


speedrun your way into my heart

by Dacket



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Panic Attacks, Some Humor, Superspeed, bad and skeppy are mentioned, dream said gotta go fast, first names used, kachow, no beta we die like men, there might be some geogres in there, was i on crack when i wrote this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:41:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29483127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dacket/pseuds/Dacket
Summary: "If there is one thing Clay would have told himself before he discovered his powers, it is that superhero suits are extremely uncomfortable."Clay finds himself in a complicated world after he discovers his superpower. Running really fast seems great until you trip and fall into your crushes bedroom.(aka, Clay is fast and also dense as hell)
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 29
Kudos: 135





	speedrun your way into my heart

**Author's Note:**

> So, here we are. Back again. Only this fic was written over three weeks, not a few hours. Once again this was written predominantly in the early hours of the morning. I even ended up researching complex physics equations to calculate how far Clay could jump based on his speed. 
> 
> IMPORTANT: towards the end, there's something very similar to a panic attack but for superheroes. Just in case you need a heads up :)
> 
> If you like superhero aus PLEASE go and read "Spiderinnit" by diapason, honestly it's brilliant. 
> 
> Like always don't send any fanfiction to the CCs and enjoy this absolute mess. 
> 
> See you in the endnotes!

If there is one thing Clay would have told himself before he discovered his powers, it is that superhero suits are extremely uncomfortable. It hugs all the wrong places and seems to exponentially increase sweat production. Almost always, it looks tacky and would probably rip the first time you wear it, so unless you have a magic suit tailor, it is useless. To put it simply, he hates them. This is why he has a secret box under his bed stuffed with black combat boots, baggy pants, pairs of swimming goggles and green hoodies. Any item would not last one trip out the house, except for his fingerless gloves; they were special. 

This is a speech Clay recites as he debates whether or not to leave his flat. It has been days since he last ran, he notes the discarded pair of boots by the door, the soles are almost completely worn down; but on the other hand, he needs to complete his college essay which is due in roughly two hours. Sighing, he does the responsible thing and dejectedly pushes the box back under the bed. Then, with a heavy heart, he reaches for his laptop and begins the tedious process of what can only be described as a school induced hell. 

The issue isn’t that he hates the work, no, that’s not it at all. The issue is that Clay finds everything extremely mundane after discovering that he could run fast. Like, really fast. He’d tested it cautiously one night, and found that his interpretation of a light jog was around forty-five metres per second. As great as this sounds, it only caused his mind to work harder to see if he could find his maximum speed, hence the stash of clothes doubling as a suit to go running in. He has, in comic book terms, a superpower, and yet is too busy writing bullshit about a topic which he didn’t listen to the lecture about, to even be, well, super. 

God, what he would give to be a superhero, to be out there, fighting crime and saving people. He’s a modern-day Flash, only, he has no Justice League to call upon. A Quicksilver without the X-Men or Avengers. Someone, who to everyone else, is like them; normal. Clay can’t shake the feeling that he needs to tell people about what has happened to him, but he can’t. He isn’t an idiot, he knows the dangers. Hell, he’s doing experiments himself, imagine what the scientists would do if they found out. Yet, the feeling lingers like an itch he will never be able to scratch. It must remain a secret. How cliche. 

The fear of putting the people he cares about in danger if a supervillain appeared overwhelms him at times. His hero complex would be thrilled, however, he does not want future enemies to hurt his loved ones to get to him. That’s where he’d draw the line; at his mother, his sister, his friends, especially Nick and even more so George. George holds such a special place in his heart that if he were to lose him, it would shatter it completely. It was already fracturing over his schoolboy crush, it’s not his fault that they spend so much time together, they go to college together, they study together. George literally lives in the flat directly below Clay’s! He insists to Nick that it is completely platonic, but he is becoming more and more infatuated as the days fly by. Time flies when you’re falling for your best friend. 

Time, however, is not flying by at this moment. Clay finds himself looking at the time every minute or so, only to see that it hasn’t changed at all. It just keeps dragging, the night getting darker with every moment he spends distracted. For a smart man, it takes him incredibly long to realise that he could just speed up his fingers. From that point, his essay was written in twenty minutes as he had done the plan beforehand. Sadly, a few of the keys are damaged, but they can be fixed at a later date, for now, the empty streets are screaming to be experimented on.

Clay recaps the plan as he rushes around his flat getting ready. Theoretically, there might be a chance that he could run through solid objects. He’d seen it done by the Flash, but that was mostly fake comic book physics. This is real life. And in real life, people can run through walls, maybe. And he’s desperate to try it.

By the time he’s putting his gloves on and shoving some goggles into the pouch on the front of his hoodie (he has to protect his eyes, okay!), he’s certain that everything is going to go according to plan and is confident that there will be no slip-ups. At all. Definitely not. 

With a small smirk on his face, Clay pulls up his hood, opens his window, and climbs down the fire escape onto the street below. He walks swiftly through the almost deserted streets of the city, which is safe to say that it’s still quite busy. He keeps his head down and tries to make himself as invisible as possible, keeping his hands in his pockets and moving forward at all times. 

It’s not long before he reaches the outskirts of the city. The bright lights are soon lost and replaced with flickering lamp posts as he navigates where he is. Once he’s sure no one is nearby, he puts on his stupid googles and does the only thing he came here to do. Clay runs. Clay runs as though he wants to win gold in the Olympics, like nothing can stop him, not even the laws of the universe. The air rushes through his blond hair, pushing it back so he can see where he is. The friction from the floor on his shoes is already making his feet warm but he revels in the pain and pushes through it. 

Each time is more satisfying than the last as he slowly masters his abilities, this is evident as he sidesteps a tree which he tripped over the last three times he’d come here. “Here” is a special place for Clay, a place where he can be himself and not be worried about being bound and dragged to a laboratory far away. “Here” is an abandoned factory. 

The building is derelict, the iron fences protecting it are corroded from years of rain and weeds are worming their way along cracks in the concrete. Even the bricks show wear from the storms, only they were crumbling, fractured from vandalism by young people who seek refuge. Hell, the front wall is gone, leaving something similar to a stage set, with different levels that have varying stability. It screamed “Danger! Unstable! Do not come near!” 

It was a perfect training ground. 

Clay digs his fingers into the fence and hoists himself over, bits of rust hiding beneath his fingernails. He smiles to himself for a second, momentarily forgetting what he came here to do. He stands, embracing the cover of night and simply just existing for a moment. It does not last long as a gust of wind blows through, causing a couple of bricks to fall which startles the man. Back to business. 

Clay walks towards the ruin, his boots crunching on the gravel scattered beneath his feet. Carefully, he examines the ground floor for a wall to potentially go through but concludes that it would be better to try a wall that is unstable, therefore with more gaps, which should make it easier. 

Due to this, he climbs his way to the top floor. The view isn’t breathtaking but it is a sight for sore eyes. He takes in the view of the city beyond the expanse of overgrown vegetation and broken structures. He pictures what his friends are doing, probably sleeping safely. Snoring in beds and not about to run headfirst into a brick wall. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Clay sees it, a wall made of fewer bricks than the rest, with a small gap above due to the lack of ceiling in this place, just in case he wanted to dodge last minute. Adrenaline courses through his body and he steels himself for what he is about to do. The wall in question is roughly two hundred feet away, which should give him enough time to accelerate fast enough that should the plan fail, he’d barrel straight through the wall. He crouches, imitating what he observes sprinters do before a race, straightens his legs and takes off. 

He accelerates rapidly, easily getting quicker in each moment, however, due to his excitement, or the lack of light, he did not see the gaping hole in the floor. This hole takes up half the surface he’s standing on and makes way through the five levels below. 

Quick, think. The hole was eighty feet away. But thinking takes up time, valuable time. Fifty feet. Does he have enough time to stop from the speed he’s travelling at? Thirty feet. No, so the only possible outcome is to- ten feet- jump. And that’s what he does, using all his power, Clay propels himself into the air. His arms flap as though he is attempting to fly, clearly he isn’t going to but the time he’s staying in the air is beginning to trouble him. He easily clears the hole, now the wall, and the rest of the building!

The worst thing is that he can’t stop his legs from moving, they continuously spin in the motion of running even though there is no ground beneath him. Clay braces for impact as he sees the floor get closer to him. He squeezes his eyes shut ready to crumple to the ground, but this never happens. He opens his eyes and sees that he's running? No, not running, sprinting. Sprinting at an accelerating pace from the direction he came from. 

Shit.

All Clay can do is make sure his hood is up and pulled tightly around his face as he hurtles towards the bustling city. The pace he is travelling at is alarming and the government probably should have picked up on it by now. His anger and fear only seemed to make him go faster, the air whistling in his ears. It isn’t just his ears he notices, as he gets closer to society, people begin to turn towards him, hearing the noise. If he’s travelling that fast, what will happen?

He racks his brain for answers, ignoring the searing pain in his feet from the heat, and comes to one conclusion. He’s approaching the sound barrier. If Clay surpasses the speed of sound, a sonic boom will be emitted, his identity discovered, his normal life gone up in flames; therefore the only logical thing to do is try to get home as soon as possible. 

Determined, Clay ricochets through the streets, scanning for his apartment building. More people are turning but he’s going so fast that he is simply a green blur, leaving toppled over people and objects in his wake. It takes him approximately ten seconds to find his building, however, he’s not slowing down. Panic encases him as the only ending to this is his face to face with that wall and a bloody nose. For the second time today, he hopes he can simply pass through, and yet, he does not. He goes up. He runs vertically up the side of his building. This is new. Yet, Clay can’t find himself to care and he raises his arms in the air, shouting with joy. He’s so distracted, that he does not notice the open window. 

In true comic book fashion, his foot catches on the edge of the window, sending him sprawling into the room it was connected to. Clay is contorted into a weird position and moans in pain from the fall. Rubbing his head, he gazes at the room he is in. It is painted a pastel blue, a large king-size bed pressed against the wall to the left of where he is standing. There is a door opposite and a set of drawers to the right. The drawers are slightly open, revealing a variety of t-shirts inside and a range of objects sitting on the top. 

Bending down he fiddles with the paperclips sitting there, noticing a well-cared-for plant, a stack of textbooks for a computing course, a jar full of pens, and a notebook discarded that is covered in doodles. It unnerves Clay how familiar some of them are, especially the large smile in the centre. It looks dead behind the eyes. That is all that’s in here, apart from the assortment of wrappers and dirty clothes on the floor. This is what he thinks as he turns, planning to go back through the window and to his room. Only, something catches his eye, a corkboard, most of it is obscured by a whiteboard with a timetable on. But Clay is drawn to the photographs pinned underneath. They reflect the light from outside due to being glossy but he can see who’s in them. Candids of three boys, some smiling, some hunching over textbooks. He knows these pictures. He’s in them. 

Suddenly, it all slots into place. The blue walls, the computing textbooks, the photographs of him and his friends. 

This was George’s flat. 

George as in, Clay’s best friend who he harbours secret gay feelings for. 

His suspicions are confirmed as he hears small footsteps coming from behind the door. He has about ten seconds to get out of there before George sees him in here. He could probably make it to the window but he’d underestimated and the handle is turning. Panicking, he grabs the notebook on the drawers and uses it to cover his face just as the door opens. 

Clay supposes the shocked gasp George lets out is valid. A stranger wearing singed clothes, holding his notepad over his face, had just broken into his apartment. He is grateful, yet irritated, that he cannot see the other’s face. He dreads the possibility that he’s going to call the police, although he supposes he could run away from them too. Trying to think of a solution, he wonders if he could go up a floor but knows that it would be futile as George would follow him. This is all so draining, he wants to sleep, not deal with the mess that’s about to happen. 

“Hi.”

Here we go. 

“I saw you on the street, you were going really fast, right?” George rushes, Clay can hear the excitement in his voice. 

“It was brilliant, do you know how fast you were running, because judging by the speed you went from the street into my bedroom-”

Clay shouldn’t humour him, but he does.

“I think,” he starts, “Roughly three hundred, metres per second that is.” 

He would kill someone to see the look on the other boys face right now. 

“But that’s impossible!” He exclaims, Clay can hear him take another step into the room and edges back towards the ledge. An idea forms.

“I know, that's why this is all just a dream,” he begins, waving his arms in the air in an attempt to seem mystical. 

“What, is that your name or something?” George deadpans.

“What?” Clay responds. 

“Dream? Is that your superhero name? It’s okay but it doesn’t relate to your power at all does it?” 

Clay realises now that his plan is going sideways and he can picture George now, smug and cross-armed, that mischievous twinkle burning in his eyes. 

“No, come on now, George. That’s not what I meant-”

“How do you know my name?”

Fuck.

“That is a brilliant question.” 

How’s he going to worm out of this one?

“It’s because, you see,” Clay wishes he could look around for something he could’ve read it from but alas, his eyes are still covered with a stupid drawing of a smiley face. 

“I’m in a dream?” George supplies.

“Yes! That’s exactly why, you’re getting the hang of this now.” 

Clay laughs awkwardly. This isn’t going very well.

“So, Dream. Mind telling me why you’re in my bedroom or…” George trails off, waiting for an answer. 

“Well, you see, this is your dream. By the looks of it, you want to get railed.” 

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. He’s so relaxed around George normally that he forgot the situation at hand. This makes him grateful that he has a face-covering because his scarlet face now contrasts his hoodie perfectly. But then; laughter. 

George breaks out into a fit of contagious giggles. The soft noise is quiet at first, as if being smothered, but soon it grows louder and more chaotic. Clay can’t stop himself. He joins in. As always, the two of them end up wheezing together, even in such a bizarre situation. It is exactly how he loves to see George, cheeks flushed, eyes watering and grinning from ear to ear. Moments like these are precious to him, even if the other is not aware of it. 

“Okay.” George takes a breath, still laughing slightly, “So let me get this straight. A man with superspeed, in an ugly yellow hoodie, breaks into my flat, steals my notebook, which I assume is to hide your identity, then tries to lie and say this is a dream. And, on top of all that, thinks I want to have sex with him.”

Clay stays silent.

“Is that all, Dream?”

“I didn’t break-in.”

“What was that?”

He sighs. 

“I didn’t break-in,” Clay mumbles, working himself up, “I tripped through your window when I was running up the building.”

“What, why would you do that?” the other asks, clearly struggling to keep his giggles in. 

“Oh, because I just thought it would be a pleasant way to spend my evening,” he states, “Obviously, I didn't mean to!”

The silence that follows is insufferable. Clay needs to go before George’s fatigue decreases enough to realise who “Dream” actually is. 

“Look, as lovely as this has been,” Clay begins, “I’m going to go now. See you around, George.” 

He darts towards the window and has one foot out. Luckily, the fire escape was a metre or two to his left so he could jump and walk up to his floor. He gets ready to shoot up using his superspeed.

“Wait, Dream!” 

George rushes forward and captures the other’s wrist with his hand. There’s a pregnant pause between the two. Clay cannot turn around to face him without revealing himself but the moment feels too intimate for two boys who have just met. 

“You,” George whispers sheepishly, “You still have my notebook.”

“Oh.”

“Listen, I really need that for tomorrow so if you could give it back, that would be great. I’ll close my eyes and everything, I promise I won’t look.” 

There's silence, no sounds except car engines and tension. But Clay trusts George, even if he doesn’t trust “Dream”. So, he slowly lowers the notebook and sees George for the first time tonight. As always, he is dumbfounded. George is squeezing his eyes shut as tight as he can, his arms extended as far out as they can go. Clay looks at him fondly and places the notebook gently in his waiting hands. He climbs the rest of the way out of the window and hops from the ledge to the platform to his left. He’s so glad this is over. 

“Dream!” George half shouts from the window, “Don’t turn around, but come back tomorrow. You don’t have to speak to me but come back, okay?” 

All George can see is the silhouette of a man with his hood up. Clay knows this, but still finds his heart racing as he replies. 

“Okay. See you around, George.”

“See you around, Dream.”

Clay only begins to move again when he hears the window close. This whole situation has drained him, mentally and physically; he climbs the rest of the way like an average person would. By the time he reaches his home and makes his way inside, he is ready to pass out. He reaches down and pushes his shoes off and accesses the damage. Yes, they were completely ruined. He shoves them next to his previous ones and stands. 

He trudges to his bedroom. All his bones click as he stretches his arms over his head, bringing his hood down and taking his God-forsaken “supersuit” off. He is so relieved to be out of those clothes, Clay embraces the cold air on his slick skin. Once he has cooled down a bit, he collapses onto his bed and wraps the cover around him. Finally, he can relax after a very stressful hour or so. Drifting in and out of consciousness, he lets his thoughts wander to what had happened and remembers what George had called him. 

Dream. It has a nice ring to it. 

This is his last coherent thought before fading into a dreamless sleep. 

The thing is, between finishing his essay, running to the abandoned factory, running back and accidentally breaking into his best friend's apartment; Clay sleeps for two hours. It didn’t cross his mind that he has college in the morning, so he wakes up prematurely. 

One minute ago the sky was a deep navy colour but it is now blushing pink as it stalks Clay through the windows. It shines directly through a gap in the curtains, illuminating the mess of a room which he lives in. It’s not the tidiest place in the world, but it’s charming and has personality. In the same way that George’s room is mostly blue, his is somewhat overkill with the colour green. This ranges from bed covers to an accent wall to small plants his friends bought him so he has some motivation to get out of bed occasionally. He’s already killed two but the third time’s the charm? 

He supposes this is fitting as he tumbles out of bed and knocks over his poor succulent in the process. Dirt spills across his carpet and a long string of curse words exit his mouth rather loudly. A perfect start to the morning. Clay stumbles to the kitchen and grabs the necessary equipment to clean it up. The walk is long and tedious, five strides between takes its toll and when he crouches down to start cleaning, his eyes begin to close once more. 

There’s a loud bang on the front door. It causes Clay to jolt awake and hurriedly sort out his plant. It would be okay. Maybe. It definitely needs more soil and some water, is there a plant doctor he could take it to? These thoughts follow him to his door. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes and blindly grasps for the handle before swinging the door open. A small figure rushes into the living area, gesturing wildly with their arms. 

“I have been knocking at your door for the past ten minutes, we need to leave now if we still want to meet with Nick and get coffee. That’s assuming that there’s no line but we should have some extra time anyway if we leave right at this second. Ew, your living room is so messy-”

That’s a small British man. It’s George, what a surprise. It’s also a shock for Clay to realise while toppling his plant over, and wondering who was at the door, he didn’t put any clothes on. Standing there in just your underwear is not the warmest but it becomes apparent to him that his friend has not noticed yet so he folds his arms over his chest and attempts to interrupt the other. 

“George.”

“-But I just didn’t get enough sleep last night, which wasn’t even my fault-”

“George!”

“-it isn’t what it sounds like but I’ll tell you the full story when we’re with Nick because I won’t want to tell it again-”

“George!” Clay shouts. 

George stops talking and turns to Clay. The tips of his ears turn red as he notices the state of his friend. 

“Can you just, give me a minute to get ready?” 

George nods and avoids eye contact as Clay practically sprints back to his bedroom to get ready. When the door shuts, he pushes his back against it and inwardly groans. Only he could manage to be semi-naked in front of his crush, he checks his phone, at seven in the morning. This is going to be a long day, he thinks as he throws whatever books are on his desk into a backpack. He grabs whatever clothes his hands can reach and puts them on quickly, not paying attention to whether or not they match. At the last minute, he shoves his laptop into his bag, attempts to fix his unruly hair in the mirror, and upon being unsuccessful; leaves. 

George is still blushing when Clay opens the front door and gestures for him to go. It’s awkward walking down the stairs and out of the building as neither one knows how to break the tension. That is until George’s foot catches on a crack in the pavement which causes him to stumble forward, windmilling his arms to catch his balance. The two of them descend into wild laughter and have no trouble making conversation as they stroll towards the campus cafe. 

Upon arriving there, they search for a tired man. When they spot him sitting at a table near the windows, he seems like he got as much sleep as the other two and is glaring at his phone. He’s wearing something similar to Clay, a thoughtless combination of sweatpants, a t-shirt and which hoodie has the least stains on it. The bell above the door rings and he looks up and makes eye contact with the pair.

“Where have you two fuckers been, I’ve been waiting here for hours,” he says, the Texan accent slightly detectable. 

“Hi, Nick. Yes, I’m doing great today, thank you for asking,” Clay replies, taking a seat at the table and yawning. 

“I’ll go and get the coffee, you clearly need it,” George says, taking off his coat and placing it on the back of a chair. 

“I’ve already got mine since I had so much time waiting for someone,” Nick emphasises the last word but overall doesn’t seem too bothered. 

“Okay, well, I’ll have a-”

“Medium latte, no sweeteners and a muffin,” George finishes, smiling as he walks away towards the counter. 

“Fucking simp,” Nick mumbles into his cup. Clay can see him smirking over the rim. 

“Oh, come on now,” he says “Everyone knows their friends’ orders.”

“Clay, what am I drinking right now?”

“Coffee?” He supplies. 

“Obviously, bitch, you can smell it. What type of coffee?”

“I don’t know but it smells disgusting. It makes me gag,” Clay says.

“Dude, we’re in a cafe, how can you not like the smell of coffee?” Nick asks, clearly irritated. 

“It’s worse once you point it out, I can’t exactly control my gag reflex, can I?” 

Clay can see the smile form on his friend’s face and regrets every decision he’s made in life that led him here.

“I bet George is into that-”

“Oh, look George is back with coffee! How wonderful!” Clay cuts in, bringing attention to the man carrying two mugs on saucers over. There’s a muffin precariously balanced on one of the small dishes.

“Did someone say my name?” He asks as he places the saucers on the table and takes a seat. 

“Yes! We were just talking about-” Nick starts.

“About how,” Clay stutters, “About how you didn’t let me pay for my drink.” 

“Oh, it’s fine,” George says, giving Clay a soft smile which makes his stomach do a cartwheel. He gazes down at the mug he has in his hands and notices something written on the napkin on George’s saucer. 

“George, what’s that?”

Nick sees what Clay’s referencing and snatches it from the other’s approaching hand. His face splits into a wide grin, a menacing twinkle in his eyes. 

“Oh Georgie,” he taunts “Is this a phone number?”

All the eyes at the table fall upon the series of numbers. Clay’s stomach, which was once full of butterflies, is twisting into many intricate knots.

“What? No!” George says, leaning over the table and hastily grabbing it out of his friend’s grubby hands, “Even if it is, I told her I wasn’t interested anyway.”

Clay’s eyes flit to the woman behind the counter, she’s pretty, that’s for sure. But she clearly isn’t as nerdy as George and wouldn’t know half the things he likes. 

“Clay, are you even listening?” Nick says, snapping him out of his thoughts. 

“Yeah, sure.” He says, but he isn’t and they all know it. 

“I was asking,” George starts over, “If you saw that guy last night?”

“Who?” Clay asks absentmindedly before taking a sip of coffee. 

“The super-speed guy, Dream!” 

Coffee comes spurting out of Clay’s mouth like a poorly made fountain. He rushes to clean it, thinking carefully about how to answer. 

“What, no?” Is what he decides on. 

“How did you not see him? He literally ran up the side of our building!” George exclaims. 

“You believe this?” Clay says to Nick, praying that he can get out of this. 

“Of course, the video’s trending on Twitter,” Nick replies, an excited tone underpinning his speech. 

There’s a video. Clay is so screwed. 

“That’s not even the most exciting bit,” George says animatedly, “I met him. He just crashed right through my window. I didn’t see his face, he hid it with my notebook, but how cool is that! Everyone was calling him the Green Guy but I thought his hoodie was yellow and-”

“That’s poggers, mate,” is the only thing Clay can reply. 

His mind is going at super speed with the consequences that this will have. On one hand, he could take his place in society as a fully-fledged superhero. He could save people and live a double life. On the other hand, he could seriously risk being discovered and should stay under the radar until this all blows over. The second option is the one he goes with. 

“Clay, why aren’t you excited?” George frowns at him, brown eyes wide and glossed over. 

“Are you sure it wasn’t like, a dream, or something?” Clay answers, trying not to let his emotions show. 

“That’s weird. That’s exactly what he said, Dream tried to convince me I was dreaming, that’s why he’s called, well, Dream. Anyway, look,” George reaches for his phone on the table and taps it a few times before sliding it over to Clay. 

“He’s definitely real,” Nick adds.

The video on the phone shows a green blur shooting through the streets at a fast pace. Hypothetically, there could have been an argument that it was some form of drone, Clay thinks, if not for the screenshot underneath. It’s still blurry but the silhouette is clear. It’s definitely a person. Thankfully, his face is a dark blur but the threat of being exposed is too high. 

“Yeah, I guess so,” Clay says, trying to sound upbeat. 

“Could you imagine being able to go that fast?” Nick asks, “I think I’d be a superhero, stop crime and shit.” 

He mimes punching someone.

“It’s so cool but it must be really dangerous, I think I’d keep it to myself, maybe try and find other people with special abilities, if there’s one, surely there’s more?” George says.

“What would you do?” He asks, turning to Clay, expecting an answer. 

“He’d probably stay in bed and do nothing,” Nick laughs, Clay follows suit so he can avoid genuinely answering the question. George doesn’t notice but instead checks the time on his phone.

“Oh, sorry, I’ve got to go,” he says, standing and beginning to put on his coat. 

“But class doesn’t start for another twenty minutes?” Nick questions, equally as confused as Clay. 

“I know but I’ve got something I need to do,” George picks up his backpack, “Don’t wait up for me after class-” 

“Here,” Clay grabs the muffin from the table, “Take it with you, I only get one because I know you’ll steal it.” 

“Oh,” George flushes and takes the food, his fingertips brush against Clay’s but they both choose to ignore it. 

“Thanks, I’ll, I’ll see you later. Bye!” George leaves through the door, which closes with a light ding behind him. 

After, he rushes out, which leaves Clay and Nick wondering what was so important that he had to go before and after his class to do. The two quickly shrugged it off and continued a light conversation about a video game that they both play. Time passes quickly, they soon find themselves clearing away dishes. Their empty mugs are collected by the woman who gave her phone number to George and Nick can’t help but wheeze at Clay glaring at her. He wipes away tears of laughter as the two part ways. They all have slightly different majors but picked classes mainly at the same time by coincidence. This allowed them all to meet at the beginning of the semester as they were buying coffee for energy at the same times each week. 

Class is, to put it simply, a drag. Clay is worn out from last night’s activities and does not see how effective colour palettes can help him learn about statistics. He has no interest in website headers and is lucky to not fall asleep during the lecture. This is not integral to his major but he needed a creative credit to graduate. It isn't a popular class either, there are only twenty or so other people in the hall. But it still feels like too many. The sleep deprivation must be much worse than he thinks as Clay feels like there are constantly people staring at him. 

The feeling sticks with him until the seminar is over and he gratefully packs away his laptop, stealing quick looks at the people leaving. He makes brief eye contact with a small huddle of men leaving the room. He’s seen them before. Two of them he knows rather well, Phil and the other one (with the glasses) both take similar courses to him and he’s been paired with the latter the odd time during group projects. However, he knows that Phil is also prominent in the engineering department. The last one is taller than the rest with curly brown hair and always wears obnoxious clothes. A music major. Clay’s heard him talk to George before, bonding over moving from England, he determines that he must be Will. It’s a bizarre trio, but he supposes that he and his friends are as well. 

The eye contact breaks after a moment and the three leave whispering. Were they talking about him? Even if they were, Clay has much larger and more important problems to deal with. Sure, he’s curious but he could be reading too much into things. He and Nick seem like they hate everyone when in reality they’re sleep-deprived and lack basic social skills. As horrible as it sounds, he knows from first-hand experience that Techno also shares this. Therefore, it’s probably something innocent, laughing at his poor fashion choices for example. He’d laugh at himself too if he could, but alas, he cannot as he needs to go cry in a library for two hours. Study, he means study. 

There are two libraries on campus, one near the STEM facilities and another next to the art block. Why the art kids need a library, Clay will never know; he’s positive that all they do is fling paint at each other and warble their way through musical ballads. This doesn’t matter, however, as he quietly enters the closest one, it is full of stressed students slouched over textbooks. His green eyes scan the room until he sees a familiar face. Approaching a pair of men, he raises his hand in a silent ‘hello’. 

“Oh, Bad look, hi Clay,” the nearest says, a large smile appearing on his face.

“Skeppy, shut up, we’re in a library!” the other hisses urgently, worrying that they will be asked to leave. 

Clay lets out a small laugh at the gesture. 

“I swear you two have the weirdest names for each other, how did you even go from Zak to ‘Skeppy’,” Clay gestures between them, “Anyway, ‘Bad’, why is the library so full?”

“Oh, you muffin,” ‘Bad’ whispers, “There’s a huge math test tomorrow for a lot of STEM majors. I think even engineering is doing it, I’m surprised you computer science kids are getting out of it.” 

“Yeah, it’s so unfair, I was talking to Sam earlier and-” ‘Skeppy’ is interrupted by a stern woman making a shushing noise. 

“That’s my cue to leave,” Clay whispers.

“If you really need to, you could go to the Arts block, isn’t there a library there as well?” ‘Bad’ suggests kindly. 

“Yeah, I think I’ll head there now before I get banned from all libraries on campus,” he smiles, “Good luck on your test.” 

With that, he quietly makes his way out of the building, careful to avoid the gaze of the librarian. It is a small moment of triumph before the dread sets in and Clay has to hang his head in defeat as he treks across campus to a place he can study. He doesn’t like to use this one unless it’s absolutely necessary, but desperate times call for desperate measures. 

Trying to remain inconspicuous, he pulls up the hood of his hoodie and pushes open the door. This does not end well as a few students are lounging around, chatting amiably in armchairs next to the large windows which take over a whole wall. Overall, the atmosphere is more relaxed and the interior, in turn, is more colourful. The people talking a look at the newcomer and he can feel himself start to sweat under the attention. They glance curiously at him, as though attempting to interpret him and Clay does not want to be there. His solution is to swiftly travel to the most secluded table in the room and ignore everyone else for the foreseeable future. On his way, he catches snippets of conversations. 

“-is that a STEM kid?”

“-maths test tomorrow-”

“-must be so bored-”

“-do you think that Dream guy is a student-”

That last one hit a nerve and Clay quickly tunes out the rest of the chatter. He could finally get some work done and forget how complicated his life is. The rest of the day flies by, if there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s fixating on something to get it done. In fact, he did so much work in the last few hours, that he’s now ahead in his course. This is something which does not happen often and he is quick to savour the bold satisfaction coursing through his body. 

Newfound confidence accompanies this and Clay picks up his phone, which had been turned off since his lecture began, to brag to his friends. Instead, he is greeted with long strings of messages off them, some of which include (but are not limited to):

‘clay were tf r u?? - Nick (14:23)’

‘are you in the library, Nick and i are getting lunch - George (14:25)’

‘ i stg if u dont come to eat with us ill force feed ti to u - Nick (14:39)’

‘you must be in one of your moods where you study for six hours straight but please eat something and take a break!! :) - George (15:31)’

‘rip george is gonna kill u - Nick (15:48)

‘ clay??? - George (15:51)’

‘Hello??? - George (16:08)’

‘ok the second you get home send me a snap of you eating food - George (17:12)’ 

And the most recent one, from ten minutes ago:

‘i left you a subway on your desk, had to break in lol, text me when you turn your phone on you dickhead :) - George (17:34)

Sometimes, Clay wonders how he could fall for his best friend, and then moments like these happen. It leaves him feeling warm inside, soft happiness which spreads from his chest to the tips of his toes. George simply cares for him but the gesture is so thoughtful that he doesn’t even mind that he broke into his flat. After all, he did the same thing the previous night. 

With a determination to please his friend, and also his stomach, Clay decides that he has done enough work for today and leaves the bizarre building. He gets a few odd looks on the long walk to the door but he would have done the same thing if he saw someone new in his library. Once outside, he notices how the sky has now turned from a bright azure to a dusty orange; the walk home is pleasant. The air is wonderfully cool and the bustle of the streets is a welcome change after hours of silence. The dusk is a delightful companion. 

Clay feels unusually calm when entering the apartment block, relaxed for the first time today. He’s aware he cannot go running tonight and although it’s disappointing, it also removed the pure anxiety of being caught which comes with it. It is easy to become enamoured with the adrenaline rush but difficult to deal with the equal quantity of stress. The two come hand in hand. Today was mostly uneventful and sets the precedent for the next few months. 

Clay’s day stays mundane as he slots his key into the front door of his flat and enters. Taking off his shoes, he heads straight for the bedroom and sees that George was not lying. There is a sandwich sitting on his desk. He strides towards it, swatting a fly out of the air on his way. He picks it up and sees a small note underneath. 

‘Enjoy! :) - george x’ 

He smiles to himself. George was just so endearing, even down to the little smiley face. He thinks that he should eat this with him instead of in solitude, pulling the window open wide enough to exit, he finds himself batting away that stupid fly again. Why won’t it leave him alone? Giving up on the losing battle, he chomps on the sandwich as he exits through the opening and onto the fire escape. 

George’s outside ‘entrance’ is attached to his lounge rather than a bedroom like Clay’s. However, it’s only one set of stairs. Maybe he could scare him? Forming a plan, he descends the stairs but stops, noticing something left on the platform. From a distance it looks like a dinner plate, white and round, but as he gets closer, he believes that it is more of an oval shape and there are bizarre markings on the surface. 

He’s close enough to pick it up and so he does. It’s very light in his hands, clearly made by a 3D printer, and the markings turn out to be a signature George smiley face. The face is composed of two holes covered in a mesh-like material he cannot see through and a smile drawn in black marker. Clay feels something ghost the back of his hand, he flips over the item. It was elastic. Black elastic attached to either side of the oval, loose enough to slip a melon through with a small amount of restraint. From this point of view, he can also see through the black holes with relative ease. However, this is not what catches his eye, it’s the post-it note. It reads:

‘For Dream,  
So you have a real mask next time!  
(I hope the smile design is okay!!)

George (the guy who’s flat you broke into)  
PS. come back anytime you want :)’

A mask. George had made Dream a mask. Clay acts as though he’s holding the largest diamond on Earth. This is a precious gift, and he sees it in a completely new light. His awe stops him from thinking for a moment before he realises, if George were to see him, he’d be caught red-handed. Gripping the mask tightly, he climbs the stairs back to his own apartment. Quickly, he places the item and half-eaten sandwich on the bed. He hastily scribbles a note on a post-it and uses his superspeed to dart down without being noticed. Sure, it’s a little risky, but if he makes any noise the other would surely notice. This is the safest option, he thinks as he puts the tiny piece of paper where the mask used to be. He couldn’t risk George recognising his handwriting so simply put a ‘:)’.

It is effective, he reassures himself when he is in the comfort of his room. He’s fiddling with the band on his mask whilst standing in front of a mirror. All the superpower business, the risk, the changes, will all seem so real if he puts it on. However, every hero must have an origin story. 

Shakily, Clay closes his eyes and raises the mask in front of his face. He grips the elastic and pulls it tight around the back of his head, careful not to tangle his hair in it. The plastic is cool against his face, yet the anticipation burns through his skull and into his brain. It feels as though someone is watching him, but the reality is that this will be the moment Clay accepts a life that he never expected to live. A life he didn’t choose. He could take it off, throw it away, reject whatever had been given to him and continue with his life as though this whole ordeal never happened. 

He opens his eyes. 

His vision is slightly obscured by the one-way material but he can still see the mirror. He can see himself. Clay knows that it’s fundamentally him. The masked man has the same broad shoulders. The same tall stature and dirty blond hair. The same stance he does, yet it hits him like a truck. This is Dream. 

“So, you’re Dream, huh?” he says into the air. 

“Actually, I go by Technoblade.”

Clay nearly screams as he spins to where the voice came from. Sitting on his bed is a man. A tall man. With long pink hair weaved into a braid down his back, and a golden crown balanced atop his head. He must be going for a monarch inspired look as he accompanies the crown with a red cape lined with snowy fur. Clay can see a white shirt peeking from underneath, tucked neatly into some brown trousers. Finished off with black leather boots, and golden jewellery. An unnerving pig skull mask sits on the top half of his face. It’s a bold fashion choice, to say the least. 

“What the fuck,” Clay says reaching behind him for an object to throw at the intruder. His hands grasp around a paperweight but this man, Technoblade, is one step ahead. 

“Now, I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a monotonous voice says “I’d like us to be friends.”

Still gripping the rock-like item, Clay responds. 

“Why should I?”

Technoblade pulls his cape back, revealing a large axe attached to his belt. It is nothing special but the handle is worn, yet the blade is shining in the light. It’s been sharpened recently.

“Because I have the axe, and you have, well,” he points at the paperweight, “that.”

Clay puts the object down in defeat, sighing as he realises he has to listen. He could attempt to run but something warns him that this man has a few more tricks up his sleeve. 

“Okay, sit. We have many things to discuss,” Technoblade pats the space next to him. 

“No. Who are you and why are you in my apartment?” Clay asks harshly.

Technoblade sighs. 

“Yeah, sure, nominate Techno, he’s great at this shit,” Clay catches him mumble. 

He shoots him a confused glance and Technoblade straightens his back. He assumes he’s staring at him but they’re both wearing masks so it is hard to tell. 

“Well, Clay, or Dream whichever you prefer. A little bird told me you have acquired a new ability, one that is superhuman, so to speak,” Technoblade says. He waits patiently for a reply. 

“I’m not Clay,” he says, attempting to sound confident. 

“We’re in Clay’s apartment, you’re wearing his clothes and respond to his name.”

Shit. He did not think that one through.

“And if I am, why should I tell you?”

“Because I have a superpower too.”

Clay is hyper-aware of his mask as his breath hitches. Somewhere in this mess, he never considered that this person in front of him could be like him. Statistically, it was likely that there were others, yet, he felt overwhelmingly alone. He lets hope blossom in his chest but it is soon extinguished by suspicion. 

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

Technoblade sighs. He reaches up and removes his crown, placing it gently in his lap. Clay hears him breathe deeply before something changes. It takes him a second to realise but the other man's hair is changing colour and receding in length. It’s incredible to watch and once the transformation has finished, he never would have thought it was pink. 

“Okay, so you’re not lying,” Clay says, trying not to sound amazed, “What was that?”

“I can, to put it simply, shape-shift,” Technoblade replies, running his fingers through his now short, brown hair. 

“Wow, that’s incredible, can you only change your appearance?” Clay asks, curious.

“No, I can do animals as well. That fly you tried to murder earlier, for example,” he tacks on bitterly. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Clay tried to place a hand over his mouth but only feels plastic, “If you know who I am, can I just, take this off?”

“If you want, I’ll take mine off as well, if you don’t mind,” Technoblade says, reaching around the back of his head and untying the knot there. 

Clay hurriedly takes off his own, eager to see the other man’s face. He wonders briefly if he knows him but the likelihood of that is slim. Considering the area, age and the chances of multiple people gaining superpowers, are extremely slim. Something akin to a 1 in 7.5 trillion chance. That’s probably exaggerating but nonetheless; slender, calloused fingers pull at a string behind brown hair and tug. Technoblade gently holds the mask in place to ensure it won’t fall and then lowers it. 

“You? What the fuck?” Clay shouts. 

There is no way in Hell that this intimidating man is also the man who did not speak to him for the first two days of their group project, yet got the highest grade. 

“Yeah, just give me one second,” Techno squints around the room, “I’ve shifted my eyes back to normal, do you have a pen I could borrow?”

“I guess.” 

Clay reaches behind him without looking and blindly fumbles for a pen. When he finds it, he hands it to the other man. 

“Thank you, thank you,” Techno says monotone, holding the pen in a firm grip and staring at it intensely. 

Clay watches in shock as the pen morphs in front of him, into a pair of glasses. One lens is larger than the other so when Techno puts them on they are ill-fitting. Despite this, he blinks a few times and seems to be able to see again. 

“How, how did you do that?” Clay asks astounded, the other power is much more advanced than his. 

“How can you go really fast?”

“Yeah, okay, I deserved that,” Clay sighs. “Wait, if you can kind of shapeshift, why don’t you fix your eyesight?”

Techno blinks at him. 

“Well, I’m new to isolated shifting, that’s what I call this,” he gestures to his hair and eyes, “You know, making specific things change such as hair or eyes. I usually just shift into animals.”

“Oh, that’s incredible,” Clay says, eyes wandering over his body to see what else he might be able to change, “How come you could change the pen into glasses then, it must be completely different from the organic matter that you’re made from, what does it feel like, does it mean that you could change other people-”

“Dude, shut up,” Techno says grimacing, “From what we can tell, I can only change myself and small objects. Nothing too complicated, it takes a lot more energy than full shifting into animals though. Glasses cost money and I’m a college student. Completely broke. So I learnt how to make them first, it took us ages to figure it out but it’s fine.”

The last word drawls and Clay can see pointed canines through his open mouth. 

“Wait, did you just say ‘us’?” 

“Wait, Phil, that’s your cue,” a small voice whispers. 

“Oh, right.” 

There’s a tap on the window, a large silhouette suddenly casting a shadow into the room. 

“Oh shit, I forgot about them,” Techno says tugging at the window clasp, “How does this open?”

“You pull it-”

“Like this?”

“No, here, let me-”

Clay opens the window and steps back. The large shadow becomes a small man, in a trench coat clambering through the gap. Clay watches as he carefully bends down to avoid something being caught on the frame. A pair of giant, ash-coloured wings, fold through space. The man is careful to not get them caught but a few stray feathers float down onto the floor. 

“Oh God, Clay, I’m sorry, they just get everywhere-”

“Phil?” 

Clay stares at the man in front of him who he knows as Phil. He’s wearing a green striped hat which covers most of his blond hair, some of it creeping into his eyes. This, however, is out of place with his grey knee-length coat that sweeps his kneecaps. Clay can’t see what’s underneath due to the large feathers in the way. 

“Hi!” 

He smiles, brushing his fingers over his wings to smooth down flyaways before tucking them neatly behind him. Clay inhales. 

“First,” he starts, “I get a freaky power and then some king-pig man breaks into my house, tells me he’s a fucking shapeshifter and is actually a guy I go to school with. Then, there’s a creepy shadow at my window which just turns out to be, surprise, another person with a fucking power, only this time it’s fucking angel wings. And I go to school with him too. How fucking many of you are there?”

“I mean,” Phil says, pulling on a piece of rope attached to something underneath his coat, “There’s Will, as well.”

As he says this, the rest of the rope floats into the room, seemingly hovering in midair. Before Clay has time to process what this could mean, the air surrounding the end of the rope begins to shimmer. It materialises into a fingertip, then a finger, and a hand grabbing loose end. The rest of the man’s body quickly follows, taking a corporeal form in front of his eyes. The man is floating in the air, only the top half of his body is visible as the other has phased through the ceiling. Clay infers that the rope is anchoring him. 

Then, he falls. The translucent figure fully materialises and is ejected from the roof above onto the floor. The man lays in a crumpled heap at Phil’s feet, groaning. Techno is laughing at him, wiping tears from his eyes. Clay’s never seen him show such emotion before. He casts his gaze back to the new person and notices his gangly limbs and curly brown hair. Racking his brain, he tries to deduce where he knows this person from. In a shocking turn of events, it’s the bright yellow jumper with rolled sleeves which makes it incredibly obvious who it is. 

“You’re Will, right?” Clay asks hesitantly. 

At this, the man looks up whilst rubbing his head.

“I’m pretty sure that Phil just said that but yes, I’m the one and only,” Will replies, letting a toothy smile take over his face, “I would ask who you are but I’ve just, you know.”

A pause.

“Broken into my home?”

“Yeah, that.”

“Is that everyone, or…” Clay looks toward the window, half expecting more figures to make their way through.

“Nope, this is all of us,” Phil insists.

Clay takes a moment to absorb what's happening. Three men he goes to college with broke into his apartment, displayed their superhuman abilities and are acting as though this is a regular occurrence for them. On one hand, he’s never really spoken to the people in front of him and trust is not something which is easily gained. On the other hand, these might be the only people in the world who could understand what he’s going through. It’s a relief for others to have seen him as both Clay and Dream, to grasp how high the stakes are but also the overwhelming satisfaction which comes with using the abilities he was gifted with. It is simultaneously panic-inducing and calming. The fact remains though, he has no idea why they’re here. Wait.

“Wait,” Clay looks straight at Techno, “How did you know I was Dream?”

“You see, I am a master of analysis. I compared your body shape and height to the figure mentioned on Twitter. I then hacked your phone to track your location last night in comparison to Dream’s, sadly you did not have it on you. However, you did use it for the first time as soon as the mysterious figure was rumoured to have disappeared. Also, they were last seen running up this building so we can assume that they live here, matching that with the likelihood of another person being from our college, you were the only viable candidate.”

“Really?” Clay asks, astonished. 

“Techno, you dickhead,” Phil replies, “George came asking for help with the 3D printer, I saw he was making a mask and he let it slip why when I asked him. We just waited until someone picked it up.” 

Clay face-palmed. That was a poor decision on his part. Something still didn’t make sense though.

“Techno, why were you in my flat then, if you didn’t know it was me yet?”

“Because I’m never wrong. I already knew it was you,” Techno shrugs smugly.

“He’s just nosey,” Will says, causing Phil to laugh. 

“Well, he’s not wrong is he, Techno?”

Clay thinks that this situation could not get any more bizarre. 

“Anyway, why are you guys even here?” Clay mumbles, slightly embarrassed that he was caught. 

Will turns his attention back to him and offers a small smile. 

“Because we know what it’s like to feel like you’re alone for the first time. No one to tell or trust, just you and this huge burden.”

It’s poetic, in a sense. Clay feels himself become more relaxed when this is said. He feels, for the first time since this whole ordeal began; not alone. 

Phil places a warm hand on Clay’s shoulder, even Techno’s mouth is turned up slightly at the corners. 

“You don’t have to do this alone, you’ve got us now.”

Phil’s words hold more weight than he will ever know. For this is the moment when Clay, looking back, accepts what has happened and is ready to move forward. Ready to treat the gift he has been given as exactly that, a gift. 

And he does. The next few months are a rush. The four of them become a team, of sorts, and fall into a relatively functional dynamic. A few crimes happen here and there, and a band of mismatched superheroes show up to stop them. The public, of course, becomes fascinated with them and they gain quite a bit of popularity. There are even stan accounts for them on Twitter, some dedicated to the group, others for individual members. 

Phil took on the mantle of PhilZa. Because that’s completely unrecognisable. Apparently, someone at their college asked him once if he was PhilZa, and he replied, “No, I’m too old for that shit.” and miraculously, that worked. He became the diplomat of sorts, reeling in the other three he accompanied. He was the easiest to spot due to his gigantic wings, however, this meant that criminals underestimated him. Easily an all-rounder, he patches all of the weaknesses that the other boys have. This causes Twitter to fondly nickname him “DadZa”.

Will does not help this at all, as after they began helping citizens, he had to be extra careful about floating away. This was solved using a complicated system of harnesses and ropes which Will could detach when he desired. However, this was lovingly dubbed as “Ghost Boy’s baby lead”, much to Phil’s dismay (Techno and Clay thought it was hilarious). The name Ghost Boy developed into Ghostbur which Will rather liked, it fit his intangibility well, although it was mainly due to his transparency in this form. He quickly became a fan favourite. 

This does not bother Technoblade who gained a violent reputation. He was often seen using his axe to intimidate criminals, and even though it has never been used, the public labelling him as the “Blood God” was not a surprise. He favoured his semi-pig form, which left many wondering what his power was. This was until an unfortunate incident when he accidentally shifted into an elephant during a break-in at an orphanage. He swore it was intentional but the rest of the team disagreed as a group of orphans were now parentless and homeless. If he returns later as a stray dog dragging parents to visit children, resulting in several adoptions; no one needs to know. 

They are Sleepy Bois Inc. 

Although fame is nice, Clay finds this life to be slightly suffocating. Dream has fans, like the others, which is reassuring but he feels like something is missing. The team is plenty successful but he doesn’t slot in like he hoped he would. Sure, they’re friends and he trusts them with his life but at the end of the day, they part ways. Clay goes home and sees his friends whilst the others converse outside of the masks and the secrecy. The Sleepy Bois are focusing on finding other superhumans, forming an organisation of sorts, rather than training and experimenting like he is.

This is prevalent when Clay discovers that George has run the “Sleepy Bois Update Account” for three months. An indescribable feeling incases him as he realises that his best friend might like Dream more than Clay. He still harbours romantic feelings for George and the thought of him discovering his identity is harrowing. However, he knows that he could never be with him and keep this life-altering secret.

He tries to divert conversation topics away from the subject but most conversations between him and his friends become an in-depth discussion about the science behind superpowers or who would win in a fight or who would each member be if they were in One Direction or-

“Clay?”

“Hm?”

Clay snaps out of the daze he is in. He’s been doing this a lot recently, pondering over his status within the group. It is difficult not to when it is all anyone talks about yet no one sees that he is a misfit. Although months ago they had told him he was not alone, the feeling of isolation has begun to inch it’s way back into Clay’s life. It embodies all of his fears and doubts and he begins to resent the persona of Dream which he so carefully crafted. 

Dream who is so sure. So cocky yet charming. So confident in his skills. So kind to others. Someone everyone wants to be. Everything they could wish for. Everything Clay is not. 

Now he knows how Hannah Montanna felt. 

“Who do you think Dream would be if he was in One Direction? I think he’d be Harry,” George says, smiling at Clay, who clearly had not been listening. 

“You only say that because Harry is your favourite,” Nick pipes up from the other side off the coffee table, “You have a crush on both of them, of course you’d say they’re similar.”

Clay doesn’t know how to feel about this so he picks up his mug and finds his coffee to be cold. He supposes that this is his fault for zoning out whilst meeting up with his friends. He shouldn’t be so surprised, they meet up at this cafe at least five times a week. Yet, when he sees George and Nick staring at him expectantly, it’s like he’s four months ago. The day that Dream was discovered by the rest of the world. 

He didn’t tune into the arguing so asks, “Wait, what was the question?” 

“It doesn’t matter, man,” Nick says, eyes flicking to George for a second, “We wanted to talk to you, actually.”

“What,” Clay replies, his eyebrows furrowed, “You’re literally talking to me right now.”

Nick sighs and pushes his empty mug into the centre of the table.

“No, about something serious.”

George’s face goes slack and his jaw drops. Clay finds this adorable, yet is still alarmed. 

“Wait, we’re doing this now? Can we not slow down a bit-”

“No, we’re doing this now,” Nick interrupts sternly and turns to face Clay, “Look, over the past few months we’ve noticed that you’ve been...distant. We want to make sure you’re okay.”

“What?” Clay splutters, “Of course I am!”

“Clay,” George starts gently, reaching over and touching Clay’s hand softly, “We know you’re not. You’ve been disappearing, zoning out. We care about you a lot, I care about you a lot. We’re here for you-”

Clay appreciates the sentiment and finds himself inhaling to reassure the other two that he’s fine but then George, who means no harm, says the dreaded words.

“You’re not alone.”

Rage encases Clay in a hurricane of emotion. The words bounce around his head, echoing the words which were said to him many months ago by people who promised to give him a home, yet he still feels excluded. The people who George idolises instead of seeing that Clay, who loves him with every beat of his heart, is there.

“You,” Clay spits, venom lacing his words, “Will never understand what it’s like.”

His two friends stare at him in shock at the outburst. Nick speaks first in a frustrated yet calm voice, as though talking to a child. 

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ll never know what it’s like to be me, what I’m feeling, going through,” Clay spits back. 

“We want to help you-”

“Yeah,” George supplies, squeezing Clay’s hand which is underneath his own, smaller, one, “You can tell us anything.”

Clay rips his hand from underneath the others, as though touching burning hot metal. He knows that George is pitying him, yet the pain in his friend’s eyes does not deter his bitterness. 

“I can’t,” he hisses, staring at his cold palm, longing for the warmth that is no longer there.

“You can-”

“No! I fucking can’t!” Clay cuts over George’s begging, “Will you two mind your own business?”

George goes to talk again, a sheen covering his eyes that was not there before, but Nick stops him. His glare cuts through the thick air between them.

“Don’t ever talk to us like that,” he says bluntly, anger seeping into his voice, “We’re your friends, if you don’t understand that then leave.”

Clay looks at the other two as the first tear spills over George’s eye and drips down his cheek. Then, he leaves. He stands up, takes his coat and walks straight out of there. The door chimes on his way out and he can hear his companions talking behind him. He wishes he could turn back but his ears are suddenly not working, it’s as though his head is underwater and he can hear nothing but static. His limbs feel light and move with a will of their own, walking him along the street and away from those he had hurt. He wonders if this is what Will feels like. 

He does not realise he’s shaking until he reaches the door of his apartment. How did he get there? He can’t answer that question, nor can he stop his hands from vibrating to slot the key in the door. They are shaking abnormally fast and he realises that he’s losing control of his powers again. Focusing closely on calming himself, his finger pushes the key in and he turns it frantically. Now inside his home, Clay locks the door behind him and drags himself along the corridor to his bedroom. 

The tears don’t stop falling after that. They spill over the corners of his eyes and stream down his face like a river finding its way to the sea. Clay can feel the wetness of his hands as he holds them against his face, which rests upon his knees. It’s a sad sight really. A young man weeping on his floor, curled in on himself. You’d think he’s shaking if not for the rate of movement. He can sense himself shivering but only when he holds out his hand does he see just how severe it is for there is only a blur where a hand should be. 

Clay finds no energy left in him to stop it. It had been used on hurting the most important person in his life and then running from it, like a coward. He chose this life. He chose to keep his two lives separate. So why does it hurt so much to tell them this? To tell them that he can’t explain everything which has happened? He believes it’s because he’s afraid, but it’s not. It’s because he wishes that they were the ones with him. His team. 

Shaking, Clay reaches for something which lives under his bed with the rest of his so-called “supersuit”. Phil has made him many over the past months but he always kept the original. His limbs scream with exhaustion as he attempts to pull the box and the high frequency of vibrations cause the box to shake. The contents fall to the floor but it’s okay, for Clay has wrapped his weak, trembling hand around his mask. The mask which George gave him. 

George, who Clay has hurt so deeply, he thinks he may never be forgiven. The boy who filled his lungs with honey sweeter than sugar and stuffed butterflies into his stomach. The same man who he teased relentlessly but would always tell him which colour is which. His George. His George, who would never love him back. 

Sobs rack Clay’s body causing it to rattle even harder. He’s not sure how much he can take before he falls unconscious so he lets it out. He finally lets himself feel. Unfortunately, this releases a new wave of emotions; anger, sadness and heartache. But one feeling thrums louder than the rest; loneliness. 

Clay believes he is imagining it when small hands pry his face from his knees. They cradle either side of his face and wipe away his tears using their thumbs. But when he opens his eyes he’s met with bloodshot brown ones. He tries to focus on them but the person pulls him forward and wraps their arms around him. The restriction reduces the shaking and Clay slowly feels himself slow down. He is unaware of the time it takes or who is holding him but he associates it with safety. The figure is whispering into his ear and he catches snippets of what they’re saying. 

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

“You’re safe.”

“Focus on my voice.”

“I’m here, Clay.”

Slowly, but surely, Clay begins to hug back and squeezes this person as though it is the only thing that can stop him from slipping away. The other senses this and rubs small circles into his back, rocking them both slightly. Clay breathes in deeply. 

“You can stop rocking me now,” he mumbles, raising his head and rubbing his aching eyes. 

When he opens them, he sees George’s concerned face staring back at him. He is as white as a sheet and his bottom lip is bitten raw. 

“Oh, sorry.”

He moves to shuffle back but Clay grips his wrists and stops him.

“I didn’t say that meant you had to move,” Clay says sheepishly, avoiding meeting George’s eyes. 

They stay in this position for a second, waiting for the other to break the uncomfortable silence. 

“Clay-”

“George-”

The two men look at each other before breaking down into giggles, laughter breaking the tension between them. It comforted Clay as he knows what’s coming next. 

“So,” George says, “You’re Dream?”

Clay is surprised by how neutral he sounds. 

“Disappointed?”

Clay laughs bitterly but the other stays silent, having found a strand of Clay’s hair to tuck behind his ear. He leaves his hand at the back of his neck but Clay pretends not to notice. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” George asks softly.

“Because you’re in so much danger once you know, I could never do that to anyone. Especially not you. And you idolised Dream so much, I didn’t want you to be upset when you found out he was just me.”

As soon as he finishes whispering his small speech, he feels fingers pull at his hair. Pair shoots through his scalp. 

“Hey,” Clay whines, “What did you do that for?”

“You,” George says, his fond gaze contrasting his reprimanding tone, “Are the dumbest person I’ve ever met.”

Clay can feel his fingers tangling into locks of hair at the nape of his neck and meets the other's eyes. George seems vulnerable but sure. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Clay asks.

“It means that I think you’re the most amazing person I know,” George says, confidence lacing his voice. 

“Even when I was so horrible to you?” 

“Clay, you were keeping up a double life as a superhero,” he says straight-faced, “I understand why we upset you. Has this ever happened before?”

“No,” Clay mumbles, “I feel better now that you’re here. George,” 

Clay laces his fingers with George’s remaining ones. 

“I’m so sorry, I never should’ve spoken to you like that,” Clay says, searching for a reaction from the face which is merely inches away from his own. 

“I forgive you,” George starts and Clay lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, “But you’ll have to make it up to me.”

Shit. Clay panics for a brief second before seeing a mischievous glint in George’s eye.

“Oh,” Clay smirks despite his tiredness, “And how can I do that?”

George grins and moves closer to Clay. He’s so close that Clay can feel his breath brush over his lips as he grins. 

“Kiss me.”

With that, George pulls Clay forward using the hand on his neck and presses their lips together. There are no fireworks, no magical sparks or symphonies. Just the gentle touch of their lips against the others. Clay smiles into the kiss, sensing a pool of unfiltered joy settling in his chest, which calms his racing heart. It is sweet and soft, full of safety. A laugh bubbles out of his throat and he is soon wheezing out of happiness and George pulls away. 

“Why are you laughing? Am I really that bad?” George queries, offended.

“No,” Clay wheezes, “Wait, does this mean you like me?”

“Yes, you dickhead,” George punches Clay in the shoulder, “I’ve been trying to tell you for months but you were all over the show.”

“I don’t know, George,” Clay grins, “That sounds kind of gay to me.”

“Oh my God,” George groans, trying to hide his smile, “You’re so stupid.”

“Oh come on now,” Clay teases, “You love me.”

“I wish I fucking didn’t,” George replies. 

Clay’s response to this is to lunge at the other and begin to tickle him. George attempts to escape and Clay’s fingers dance across his body, leaving him breathless due to the laughter. A large bang interrupts them both. Clay’s head spins towards the window which was left open by George. 

“What was that?” He asks. 

“Oh shit,” George moans. 

“What is it?” 

“If I have to hear that sappy shit ever again-” 

A voice echoes from the steps of the fire escape. 

“Yeah, so Nick’s been here the whole time,” George murmurs. 

Clay can’t tell whether to be embarrassed or amusing, even though his reaction should be worried. Maybe he’s too worn out. This does not stop a disgruntled Nick from entering through the window with the grace of an elephant in an orphanage. 

“Yes, I’ve been here the whole time!” Nick shouts, “What the fuck, George? You were supposed to tell me when to come in.”

“Which I clearly didn’t do yet,” George snaps back. 

“Why, so you could get railed by your boyfriend?” Nick retorts.

George turns a bright crimson colour and Clay bursts into laughter before turning to Nick.

“Look-”

“You’re sorry, yeah, I know. I forgive you,” Nick says sincerely, “Anyway, you’re Dream!” 

“Yeah, I guess I am,” Clay replies, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“That’s so cool, I can’t believe we didn’t figure it out,” he laughs. 

“I know, looking back it seems so obvious,” George says, picking up the mask he made months ago. 

“I can’t believe you kept the design,” he rubs his finger over the faint line where the smile used to be. 

“Oi, let me try that on,” Nick says and snatches it out of the smaller boy’s hand despite the protests. 

This quickly turns into a game between Nick and George who can do the best Dream impression. Clay is a harsh judge, critiquing them over accents and dialect. George was in the middle of a particularly harsh mockery when a voice sounded from underneath the floor. 

“Hey, Dream! There’s a guy downtown and we’re going to go and-”

Will stops, half visible, having mastered his skill enough to float in midair. He glances and the three men on the floor, one of whom is holding Clay’s mask.

“Hey guys, I think I’m in the wrong apartment,” Will attempts to cover up his mistake, and makes wide eyes at Clay who simply laughs along with his two friends. 

“No, it’s fine, they know,” Clay supplies, “Let me get changed and I’ll come with you.”

Clay grabs a set of clothes from his box and rushes to his bathroom. He can see that his eyes are still red in the mirror but his face is flush with happiness. He hears his three friends making small talk in the next room and snorts, it’s as awkward as he thought it would be. He’s dressed in under thirty seconds and is putting on his gloves as he enters his bedroom. 

“Thank God you’re back,” Will groans, “I’m hooking myself in then we can leave.”

He pulls out his “baby lead”, and hooks it onto the back of Clay’s trousers, ignoring the snickers from the other two men in the room. He shimmers before becoming completely transparent.

“Let's go!” Will commands. 

Clay smiles at his friends and puts his mask on. 

“Wait for me to get back?”

Nick nods enthusiastically. George pulls Clay’s hoodie as he’s walking to the window. Clay bends down as the other tips his mask upwards and leaves a quick peck on his lips. He’s extremely grateful that George cannot see his blush as he would be teased mercilessly. 

“Stay safe,” George whispers into his ear. 

Clay tries to respond but can also grin and wave and Will drags him out of the window towards the danger. After the problem was dealt with, Will cannot keep his mouth shut and Phil is not pleased about two people discovering the true identities of Sleepy Bois Inc but he knows that this is what’s best for Clay. 

An undisclosed amount of time later, Dream takes over as the leader of a large superhero alliance called the Dream SMP. This group includes over thirty people from across the globe, who branch off into their own smaller teams. Thankfully, a young British boy replaces Clay as the fourth member of Sleepy Bois Inc. He is relieved, to say the least. He forms his own group called the Dream Team within the SMP, which includes himself; Nick, who develops a range of fire-based weaponry, renamed Sapnap; occasionally Badboyhalo (‘Bad’ for short), who developed an uncharacteristic demon-based power; and George, who provides support from a refurbished factory (although he refuses to call it a secret hideout).

Clay still finds himself overwhelmed at times when he pushes himself too hard or doesn’t save enough people. But every time, one thing remains constant. The person who he trusts more than anyone else on the planet. The person who proved that home is not an abandoned factory but a place he can be free. The person who proved that Clay is never truly alone. His George. This man is, in a way, his origin story. 

And what a brilliant origin story it is.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're reading these endnotes, I want to thank you for reading this fic. It's taken me weeks to write and I'm so glad it's over. 
> 
> This was a fever dream and I'm pretty sure if my family saw this id never see the light of day.
> 
> Incases you were wondering, if Dream ran at 100 m/s and jumped at a 70 degree angle, he'd travel 656m, dudes insane.
> 
> As always, if you see any Geogres please let me know, I cant catch them all.


End file.
